The Intended (38 page)

A linen poultice lay across a bowl on a small
stool beside the bed. Sniffing at the cloth and then at the packet
of medicine in her hand, Catherine decided that they were the same.
She looked hard at Jaime. She knew that the medicines Graves
administered could be poison. She recalled the unkind gossip that
had circulated when the duchess of Buckingham, being treated for a
headache, had lost the use of both legs after taking too much of
the medicine a court physician had given her.

Catherine had little time before the servant
would return. Dampening the linen poultice in the bowl again, she
poured the powdered mixture over the cloth.

What a wench! she thought, laying the
poultice across Jaime’s forehead. This might be better than
whipping. But the Scottish witch was good, getting Edward so crazed
that he would actually seek her hand in marriage. Catherine was not
about to forgive her. Aye, seeing her sleeping with the handsome
Highlander had been too much for the future queen to bear. Jaime
would pay dearly for trying to steal Catherine’s men from her!

Jaime whispered something in her sleep and
moved her arms restlessly, pushing back the covers. These had to be
potions to make her sleep, Catherine was certain of it. Glancing
back at the table, she looked at the pitcher with the cup beside
it. Whatever Master Graves had in mind for Jaime was not strong
enough, as far as Catherine was concerned. She would give her
more—a great deal more. Reaching for the cup half filled with
water, Catherine poured in more of the powdery contents from the
packet.

Jaime moaned. It was a long, plaintive moan,
and Catherine looked back at her. Turning, she sat on the bed
beside the sleeping woman, and, lifting her head, placed the cup to
her lips. Jaime seemed to struggle at first, but then relinquished
the fight and sipped the drink.

Catherine watched the pale face of the woman
lying in her arms convulse slightly before slipping into total
oblivion.

“Slut,” she whispered.

Pulling away, she stood up and placed the
drink beside the pitcher. This would be much easier than she’d
thought. If this didn’t do the trick, Catherine decided, she would
simply come back tomorrow...everyday, in fact...and supplement the
dear physician’s ministrations with her own.

She would enjoy these visits immensely. She
would, indeed.

The sound of the horses’ hooves clattering on
the stone paving combined with the barking of the dogs and the
shouts of handlers, muffling the two men’s voices. But Malcolm and
the physician paused in their conversation as several servants
hustled past carrying crossbows, longbows, and lances. The
Highlander’s eyes were drawn to the great north entrance of the
palace from which Surrey would emerge momentarily. Four young maids
holding baskets of food stood by, chatting amiably away with a pair
of burly guards.

Malcolm discreetly tucked the folded message
inside his belted tunic as he patted the flank of the excited
hunter he’d been given to ride.

“You do not care to ride with us, Master
Graves?” he asked loudly as a page passed leading a fine black
steed toward the entryway.

“Bah!” the physician returned. “I’ve more
important things to...”

The man stopped short as the smiling earl of
Surrey strode out into the yard and, yanking his gloves on, headed
directly for the black hunter.

Master Graves watched the earl thoughtfully.
“If only he cared for these people with the same passion that he
cares for his hunting and his books!”

Malcolm followed the man’s gaze. “When the
time comes, he will. He knows that he has a great deal to learn,
but his father, the duke, is still quite healthy. And his brother
Edward, though ignorant of anyone’s needs but his own, commands the
father’s favor. Nay, Master Graves, ‘tis not a matter of passion.
Surrey sees it as a matter of patience.”

The physician gave the Highlander a
thoughtful look but said nothing, turning his attention in the
direction of the English nobleman.

“How is Jaime faring, Master Graves?” Malcolm
asked in a low voice.

“Resting. As she should!”

“Is she getting enough to eat and drink?”
Malcolm probed. “I heard from Lady Frances at dinner last night
that Jaime has not been even slightly awake now for two days. This
is all part of the ruse, is it not?”

The physician placed a hand on a sore
shoulder. “She could be an actor in the saint’s plays, I should
think. I reduced the amount we’ve been giving her yesterday, so my
medicines should only be making her a bit dozy. With that, she
should have only drowsiness and short stretches of sleep, not the
stupor she appears to be in. But again, I haven’t seen her alone
since then. Since there have always been others around, she may be
acting even with me.”

“I want you to stop giving her whatever it is
you have been,” Malcolm stated firmly. “Surrey has already sent a
message to his father that she has taken ill. I think he is
resigned not to send her to court for a while.”

Graves nodded. “I was thinking myself that it
is the thing to do. I think Mistress Jaime’s serving woman Caddy is
becoming quite concerned about her mistress.”

Malcolm swung into his saddle as the hunting
party prepared to move off.

“When do you plan to take her?” the physician
asked quietly.

Malcolm leaned over, pretending to fix a
strap on his stirrup. “Midsummer’s Eve. Perhaps the day
before.”

“That is less than a week! She might not have
her legs under her by then.”

“We must do what is necessary.” Malcolm
looked determinedly at the physician and then patted the folded
letter tucked inside his belt. “But who knows what news you brought
me today. It may just be that...everything has been delayed. We
might, Master Graves, have more time than we think.

Edward slipped the unopened letter from
Catherine into his belt as his father entered the chamber.

The duke of Norfolk didn’t accept his son’s
offer for wine nor his motion to take a seat. In fact, Edward now
noticed that his father had advanced no further than three steps
into the room. So, he thought, the duke was rejecting him,
disassociating himself with his own kin and with whatever
wrongdoing Edward was being accused of. This was suddenly quite
apparent in the old man’s behavior and quite, quite clear to
Edward.

But he already knew the reason for this
visit. The same messenger who had brought him Catherine’s letter
only moments ago had also brought Surrey’s message to the duke. The
man had relayed to him the news of Jaime, though he had known very
little of the details other than a sudden illness had struck down
the mistress. But before leaving, the man had suggested that Lady
Catherine’s message might provide more answers. Edward patted his
belt—where her letter lay.

“So, Father, I hear my dearly beloved has
decided to play the unwilling bride!”

“She is sick, Edward. But she will mend,” the
duke added. “Surrey has assured me in this letter that as soon as
she takes a turn for the better, she’ll be sent here to Nonsuch
Palace.”

“But by then my head may be on a pike and
halfway to London Bridge!” Edward said with a false smile as he
reached over and filled up the cup in his hand. Pausing, he pushed
the drink away and stared at it. “Do you think I can use my dear
brother’s letter in my defense, Father? Do you believe the great
lords of the High Steward’s Court will pardon me based on my own
words?” He laughed bitterly. “Could you just see me making my plea?
My lords, you have to spare my head on the block. After all, I
am the future husband of Jaime Tudor. Aye, my lords. Tudor! She is
the bastard daughter of the king. It is because of me my lords that
her true identity has come forth. Reuniting a father and
daughter--what generous heart I carry! I...”

“I will write His Majesty a letter and ask
for a delay in your hearings,” the duke said shortly, interrupting
the younger man’s talk.

“But don’t you think I’d be better off if you
didn’t?” Edward asked with a smirk. “Knowing you and your
reputation, father, I’d be afraid that your letter might do me more
damage than good.” He grabbed at his cup. “Am I not a terrible
liability to you now? Before these ridiculous rumors ever started
to surface, you were again favored in the king’s eye, thanks to his
lust for Catherine. But now—an accused son! What a disgrace you
must think me,” Edward raised his cup in salute to the older man
before draining every drop of it.

The duke of Norfolk growled at him from where
he stood—so far away. “It’s not your alleged villainy that
disgraces me, Edward, but your cowardly behavior now. All because
you have been detained...”

“Imprisoned,” Edward corrected.

“Imprisoned? Have you forgotten what that
really means? You, the man who have made Norwich Castle a terror
for all who had ever been put in chains. You consider
this
a
prison?” The duke’s eyes glanced at the direction of the pitchers
of wine and the rumpled bed at the far side of the room. “We don’t
allow whoring and drinking in our prisons, Edward.”

Edward laughed. “Whoring?”

The duke waved a hand in the air. “I don’t
care how much gold you throw away on these wenches--all I care
about is for you to once again
look
respectable.”

“I don’t believe the vultures who pick at the
dead bodies after the executions are very discriminating when it
comes to looks.”

“Edward, continue to act like this and you
are doomed.”

“Am I not already?” He reached over and
picked up the pitcher of wine again.

“I have spoken to His Majesty.”

Edward paused, the pitcher in hand. “You told
him about Jaime?”

“I’ve only hinted,” the duke said
encouragingly. “I didn’t mention her name nor her whereabouts. But
I did speak as if I had heard rumors of a royal love child.”

“And?” Edward asked, suddenly more revived
than he had been in days.

“His Majesty was quite interested in finding
out more. Edward, it doesn’t matter what the verdict of High
Steward’s Court might be—the king has the power to pardon.”

Edward placed the pitcher and cup back on the
table and looked up into his father’s face. “And you think he would
pardon a son-in-law?”

“He seemed pleased—curious and yet pleased to
hear what I had to say.” The duke’s face reflected the confidence
in his words. “So stop playing the doomed martyr. Prepare yourself.
Surrey will send her here as soon as she is well, and then you’ll
have the chance to present her—your wedded wife—to His
Majesty.”

Edward leaned back in his chair and thought
over everything he just had heard his father say. “But what if the
fact that I have married her angers him more? My head will still
adorn a pike atop London Bridge.”

“I’ve already thought that through.”

“You have?”

The duke ran a hand down the front of his
velvet robe. “Aye. We’ll twist the truth a bit and tell him how
shocked we are in learning it ourselves. And then we’ll offer to
have the marriage annulled...as a token of your loyalty and
goodwill.”

“Annulled?” Edward stood up quickly.

“Aye.” The duke raised his hand to silence
his son. “But there will be no annulment. I am having documents
drawn up as we speak, dated two months ago, attesting to the
betrothal. The banns have been waved by the Archbishop of Norwich
and all that is left is a simple ceremony and the consummation.”
Norfolk cast an eye toward the unmade bed. “And you should be able
to handle that, I should think.”

“You make it sound all so simple.”

“It is,” the duke stressed. “The king will be
satisfied that his daughter—even without the condition of
legitimacy—has found a suitable marriage with a great family that
is loyal to him. All you need do, my boy, is sit back and wait for
her arrival—perhaps in a few days.”

Edward took a walk around his chair and
placed a hand on his belt where Catherine’s letter nestled.

“Clean yourself up and be ready. Things are
certain to improve.”

Edward acknowledged the older man’s words
with a nod. But a moment later, as the heavy oaken door swung shut
behind his father the duke, he pulled Catherine’s letter from its
hiding place and broke open the seal.

After letting the Highlander in, the small
woman looked hesitantly up and down the hall before backing into
the room and closing the door firmly behind her. An instant later
Caddy followed Malcolm MacLeod to the side of Jaime’s bed. As he
leaned over the sleeping frame of the young woman and touched her
gently on the cheek, the older woman looked on, her anxious
expression matching the grim one on the man’s face.

“I am so glad you’ve come. She hasn’t been
well, and I didn’t know who to go to, m’lord,” the woman’s voice
carried on over Malcolm's shoulder. “I mean Master Graves is the
one supposed to look after her, but whatever it is he is giving her
has been making my mistress terribly sick. She hasn’t even opened
her eyes in two days. The first day that she took to this bed she
slept most of the day away, but still she woke up every now and
then. She knew where she was, but this time...” The woman nervously
wrung her hands. “I just can’t help thinking that there is
something wrong.”

Malcolm's fingers traced Jaime’s dry lips and
caressed the soft skin of her face. “The physician said he was
stopping all his potions yesterday.” He removed a soaked linen
cloth from her brow. “What is this doing here?” he asked shortly,
bringing the cloth to his nose and shaking his head. The sweet
cloying smell of opium.

“I don’t know, m’lord,” the woman whispered
worriedly. “I just thought that it had been left by Master Graves.
I didn’t know there was anything on it. But I haven’t put it on her
brow, anyway. Since yesterday, when the physician said he was
cutting back on the medicines, I haven’t given her anything. But
then I...”